Strange, Illogical Human
by ElleDritch
Summary: Saavik isolates herself after Spock's death, not speaking to any of the other crewmembers. Uhura, realizing that she must be feeling emotions she doesn't know how to deal with, reaches out to the young Half-Vulcan.


"Saavik has been isolating herself," Admiral Kirk says. "I haven't heard her speak in some time." He looks at his wrist, which bears no watch, and then at the ceiling, clearly trying to keep his gaze away from one specific spot.

"She was always fairly quiet," Sulu points out.

Kirk shakes his head. "On a normal day, she'd have said the word 'illogical' at least twenty times, and 'irrational' another seven. I haven't heard either word once."

"Probably sounds too much like Spock," Chekov says.

There's a silence as Kirk continues to make a futile effort to look everywhere but the chair where Spock used to sit. "Most likely, yes," he manages, his tone far too forced to be genuinely dispassionate.

"Maybe you should speak to her," Sulu suggests, his voice carefully neutral. "Of all the crewmembers here, you were closest to Spock, I think we'd all agree."

Chekov nods. Sulu sits back to watch the conversation, noting that the atmosphere is muted, the conversation hushed. There's a hole where another voice should be, and it's got nothing to do with the fact that McCoy is in the Sickbay and Scotty's off making repairs.

Kirk closes his eyes for a minute. "I don't think I can do that," he says finally, his face visibly strained, and everyone can tell how taxing it is for him, as an Admiral, as a Starfleet officer, as a leader, as a human, to say that there's something he cannot do.

"I will, then," says an unexpected voice. Nyota Uhura turns in her chair and stands up, meeting Kirk's eyes across the room.

Sulu's eyebrows go up and he shoots Chekov a surprised look. It's wasted, however, as Chekov is looking from Kirk to Uhura and back again, thoughtfully.

"You never seemed particularly close to her," Sulu notes.

Uhura flashes him a dark look and turns back to Kirk. "I can speak to her as one woman to another. We are both females, or close, in a male-dominated place and profession. That is a bond already."

Kirk nods. "She will appreciate the logic of that."

"It's hard to imagine what it would be like, to solely operate on logic. There's a lot you'd be missing," Sulu says contemplatively. "No sadness sounds great, in theory, but no joy?"

"Saavik feels sadness," Uhura tells him, surprised he didn't know. "She cried at Spock's funeral."

Sulu stares at her in disbelief and shakes his head slowly. "Impossible."

"I was standing just behind her, and when she turned, I saw. It must be the Romulan in her."

Kirk turns sharply at the mention of the species's name. "She's nothing like them. You know that."

Uhura dips her head. "Aye, sir."

"Go speak to her, then. She's one of the Enterprise's children, and I hate to see her distant."

"Sad," Uhura corrects gently.

"Sad, then. See if you can lift her spirits, or if it's possible."

"I think I can. Everyone addresses her and treats her as a Vulcan. That's what she wishes, isn't it? But it's - maybe she needs someone to acknowledge that she does feel, just like a human does."

"Maybe that's the last thing she wants to hear," Sulu warns.

"Maybe the last thing we want to hear is exactly what we need to hear."

Nobody has any further arguments to make, so with a final, formal nod to Kirk, Uhura turns and leaves the room.

She makes her way down the freshly-unscarred white hallways, to the elevator, and then to the recreation lounge on deck 3. The doors slide open for her as they always do, revealing the chairs and lounges that always look out-of-place to Uhura's eyes, no matter how often she sees them set against the backdrop of the Enterprise's blank, curved walls and portholes.

Saavik is sitting in the farthest chair from the entrance, all alone in the room. It's surprising to see the area so empty, but Uhura reflects that nobody had wanted to speak to Saavik other than her, so perhaps it's Saavik's presence that has emptied the space. She makes her way over to the young Vulcan woman with the wise, removed eyes and sits down one chair away from her, placing her chin in her hand and regarding her calmly.

Saavik, immediately deducing that Uhura would have chosen a further chair in the nearly-empty room if she did not want to speak with her, turns her head and meets Uhura's eyes over the top of her large book, saying nothing.

"You know, the presence of logic doesn't rule out the presence of emotion."

Saavik raises an eyebrow and closes the book, crossing her legs to face Uhura. "How so?"

Uhura's mouth hovers on the edge of a sympathetic smile. "You can be emotional at things and still make logical choices. The problem, or what you'd call a problem, only lies in letting the emotion overpower the logic and make the decision for you."

Saavik's eyes flick sideways and then meet Uhura's again. "Permission to speak candidly, ma'am?"

Uhura blinks. "Granted."

"What's the point of having that emotion if all you do is ignore it?"

Uhura is silent for a moment. "It pays to feel things," she says simply. "You are part Romulan, aren't you?"

"I am a Vulcan."

"But you _do_ feel."

"Please don't connect me any more than necessary to the Romulan people."

Uhura nods and sits back in her chair, gauging Saavik's reaction. She doesn't seem upset, but of course she doesn't.

"Permission to speak candidly, Saavik?" There's a smile in Uhura's words when she next speaks. "Would you trade all the happiness you've ever felt away?"

There's a long pause. "I've tried to convince myself I wouldn't. And I have thought about that."

"You have?"

"Yes. Shockingly, I have thoughts."

"That's not what I meant-"

Saavik opens the book again, decisively, and drops her face behind it. "Thank you for your 'advice.'"

That stings, and Uhura narrows her eyes. "I'm here to help you, Lieutenant," she says sharply. "You don't know everything."

Saavik's hairdo and eyes peek over the top of the book again. "I know," she replies, her voice level. "I know I'm young, and I know that is an excuse for everyone to look down on me."

Uhura sits back. "That's not - I'm not looking down on you."

"Oh?"

"Maybe you need to learn some manners."

Saavik closes the book again, keeping her place with her finger. She stares at Uhura with an unreadable expression. Finally, she blinks and looks sideways. "My mentor is dead."

"And you're affected by it."

Saavik's hand moves toward her face but stops halfway there. "It is strange," she says, changing the topic completely. "The test Admiral Kirk had me complete. A no-win simulation. Why such a thing exists. It's irrational."

"Is it?" asks Uhura.

"Yes," says Saavik, with growing confidence. "If you die no matter what you do, if the guilt of every crewmember's death will be with you no matter what you do, how do the steps leading to your death matter?"

"Don't you want to die with your head held high?"

"If I am not only leading myself to my death but my crewmembers to death as well, through a mistake _I_ made, I would not be proud."

Uhura leans back. "Well, now it's a Vulcan's turn to give a human something to think about."

"Such a thing hasn't happened before?" Saavik's voice is dry.

Uhura almost smiles. "I think your people made too great a sacrifice in giving up your ability to feel. But I can't deny that they _do_ think… even if that's all they do."

"I cannot tell if you are purposefully trying to spark an emotion in me."

"I'm not," Uhura lies. She cranes her neck. "What is it that you're reading so avidly?"

" _An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of the Observable Universe_."

"From the Admiral's personal collection."

"Permission was granted."

"I see."

Uhura shifts. Talking to Vulcans always makes her feel strangely small, in the face of their icy wisdom, and long conversations with them have never been her cup of tea. But she did like Spock, and she's not surprised his protégée has been - in her strange, Vulcan way - upset by his passing.

"Why did you come in to speak to me?" Saavik asks, after a time.

"I don't know," says Uhura. "Kirk wanted - _I_ wanted - to see how you were feeling."

"How I was feeling?" The word 'feeling' is slightly stressed, and Uhura notices it but makes the choice not to call it out.

"Yes."

"I am not feeling much."

"That's, incidentally, a symptom of a human condition when people feel too much, so their body pushes all of it out."

"I assure you I do not have depression, if that is the 'human condition' you are referring to."

Uhura tilts her head. "You've heard of it?"

"When I found I was accepted to become a commander-in-training amongst humans, I did all the reading I could. On how to deal with their emotions, and the wild extremes those emotions can take."

"Was the reading useful?"

"Surprisingly not. Not useless, but it did not do a very good job of preparing me. Everybody here is very foreign to me. Loud, sometimes. You do not even speak my native language."

"I know what that's like."

"You do?"

"I am Swahili. I was raised speaking Swahili. My past a story for another time, perhaps. But please remember that you are not the only one far from your home culture."

Saavik slides her finger out of the book, letting it slip closed. "I _am_ feeling," she says, her voice clipped. "I don't - attachment. It is irrational, especially in a high-risk - in a place of danger. In space."

"That's the most incoherent I've ever heard you," Uhura observes.

"I have learned from this," Saavik continues, ignoring Uhura's comment. "It has been repeated into me not to become, even in the most diminutive way, attached to what leaves, including those around you. To do so is clearly a mistake." She ducks her head again, face made carefully unreadable.

"Maybe that's the wrong lesson," says Uhura gently.

Saavik raises her head and gives her another cool look. "Hm?"

"Were you happy that you felt attached to Spock?"

"Of course not. He is dead."

"But when he was alive. You regarded him highly, didn't you? That is a form of attachment."

"I had not thought of that," Saavik admits slowly. "I suppose - I learned more from him, regarding him as I did."

"Well, there you go. A benefit of attachment."

"If it were exchangeable, I would remove it altogether."

Uhura thinks she understands what Saavik is trying to say. "But what you learned. That will stay with you forever, even if what you felt losing Spock will not."

"Please stop using that word. Felt. It is not accurate."

"Really? Because if it _is_ accurate and you are saying it's not, you're being-"

"Irrational."

"Mm-hmm."

"That is a strange human affirmative, that sound."

"Mmm. Perhaps so."

"Now you are using that hum just to irk me."

"Mmm. Maybe I am."

"You don't dislike me. This is puzzling."

"Sometimes, we humans like to playfully tease those we like."

"So you like me?"

"Mm-hmm."

Saavik's eyes flick right again. "I have never done you any favors, nor made any measurable positive impact in your life. Why would you have any feelings of attachment regarding me?"

"Because you're part of my crew." Uhura stands, walks over to Saavik, and pats her on the shoulder. Saavik stiffens slightly, and Uhura withdraws her hand. "Hey. If you ever need a strange, illogical human to talk to, you have me."

Saavik looks as if she can't possibly comprehend a reality in which she would actively seek out an 'illogical human' to converse with. "I… will take that under consideration."

"You do that, Mr. Saavik." Understanding that the conversation is over, Uhura gives the young Vulcan another smile, turns, and leaves the lounge.

Saavik looks after her for a moment longer than necessary before picking up her encyclopaedia again. "Strange," she says. She blinks, unable to focus for a moment on early theories of the physics of lightspeed travel. Closing the book, she stands and quietly paces to the nearest porthole, resting her elbow on the small ledge and placing her forehead against the cool, comforting glass. "It should have been me," she says, out into space. "Logically speaking, it should have been me."

She stays that way a long while, as the universe around her flies silently by.


End file.
